


Her Favorite Color Has Always Been Green

by if_he_had_to_guess



Category: The Last of Us (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Sorry the first chapter's kind of short, There's a lack of Abby/Ellie content and I'm desperate, They'll get longer as time goes on, i don't know yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:14:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29965518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/if_he_had_to_guess/pseuds/if_he_had_to_guess
Summary: She finds freckled skin and dark auburn hair, framing a face that's the perfect picture of beauty in spite of the blood splattered across the bridge of her nose, reaching her forehead. There’s a look in those eyes, which are the perfect shade of green, that tells Abby, “I’ve done this before, and I’ll do it again”.Somewhere, distantly, Abby is reminded that her favorite color has always been green.
Relationships: Abby/Ellie (The Last of Us)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	1. 1

Abby’s back hits the ground hard, a grunt escaping her throat. The back of her head hurts in a way that she could only describe as being struck by lightning, and she doesn’t need the warmth and wetness to know she’s bleeding. Anyone would be with a strike that hard. 

She sends her hands searching, finding warm arms and then a warmer still waist, her mind so set on survival that she doesn’t care about the way the shirt scratches the palms of her hands and pads of her fingers. She’s preparing a move, to flip the person above her who she knows is lighter than her, the world a blur around her, when there’s suddenly cold metal against the skin of her throat, and she’s suddenly more aware of her blood pumping through her carotid artery, the way it’s fighting to pump past the barrel of the gun. She stills, and raises her eyes, finally grounding. What she finds is not what she expects.

She finds freckled skin and dark auburn hair, framing a face that's the perfect picture of beauty in spite of the blood splattered across the bridge of her nose, reaching her forehead. There’s a look in those eyes, which are the perfect shade of green, that tells Abby, “I’ve done this before, and I’ll do it again”.

Somewhere, distantly, Abby is reminded that her favorite color has always been green.

“Why are you here?”

The question almost doesn’t register through the ringing in her ears, but when it does, Abby grunts again, shifting her weight a bit beneath the girl straddling her waist. She could so easily flip the positions, break the girl’s arm, her neck. She could kill her. The gun digs deeper into her skin, and as she unconsciously twitches away from it, she decides against it.  
There’s the sound of something cutting through the air, and the next thing Abby knows, there’s a small spraying of blood from the girl’s shoulder. She hisses in pain, knocking off to the side, and Abby takes her chance, grabbing the waist her hands were still firm on. She pins the girl-no, woman, to the floor, immediately grasping for her gun hand. She almost, almost, winces at the sound her hand makes when she slams it against the wooden floor of the cabin, once, twice, and finally, the third time, the gun slips from her grasp. Lev picks it up, whisper quiet with his movements, staring at the two women on the floor. In this moment, it’s like the world goes quiet, as if time has frozen.

Abby feels as if she’s moving through quicksand as she sits back, looking down again, finding not an ounce of fear in those green eyes. She heaves in a breath she doesn’t know she’s been holding.

“Listen,” she starts, voice low, breathless, “I don’t want any trouble. We just wanna gather supplies and leave.”

She’s regarded intensely, and it sends a chill through Abby’s entire body, being studied so…intimately. She clenches her jaw, nonetheless, raising an eyebrow when the question goes unanswered for a couple of beats too long, an unspoken “well?”

“Fine,” it’s truly more of a growl, but Abby takes it as a win, and knowing that Lev’s prepared for a fight, she slowly releases the wrists her hands have wrapped around, getting to her feet and immediately taking several steps away from her. “I’m gonna leave, so don’t fucking shoot me.”

Abby nods slowly, aware of the way Lev’s trained the woman’s own gun back on her. She’s glad she at least taught him how to use one.

\----

A week or so passes since her first encounter with the green-eyed woman, and Abby’s finding it particularly annoying how she can’t stop thinking of her.

It’s an interesting thing, really; Abby’s always known she preferred women to men, but being attracted to someone who’d held a gun to her just over a week ago? Now that, that was new.

Lev’s no stupid kid. They’ve known one another for at least a year, and he can read her as if she were a book. He can practically hear the gears turning in her head, can feel the intensity of her thoughts through the way her brows are knit together, the set of her mouth. She hates herself for being so predictable sometimes, but Lev has assured her several times that she’s only this way around him. Love does change you, she thinks.

“Do you think we’ll see her again?” Lev asks one night, laying in a sleeping bag in an abandoned house several miles from the cabin. There’s a town nearby, and as much as she’d like to be cautious, Lev’s optimism has rubbed off on her, even if just a small bit, and they’ve decided they’ll approach the next day to seek refuge from the building snow. After all the shit they’ve been through, she’ll be damned if frostbite is what takes them out.

“I don’t know, kid,” it’s true, and Abby can’t tell if she’s satisfied with that or not. “Does it matter?”

Lev nods in acknowledgement, staring at the ceiling in deep thought, and Abby knows he’s choosing what he wants to say next, a topic that Abby is okay with dedicating a decent amount of her free time thinking about, but would truly, truly rather not discuss with Lev right now.

“We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow, Lev,” she’s quiet, and she shoots him a smile, ruffling the short hairs on top of his head. “If they accept us, I’ll ask for an electric razor. See if we can’t shave this shit off.”

Lev smiles, dropping his train of thought before settling in. Abby watches as he falls into a deep sleep, relaxing a bit in her seat and exhaling. She looks down at the gun in her hand, turning it over, and thinks of freckles and auburn hair while keeping watch that night.


	2. 2

The day already feels as though it’s been too long as they approach the gate. Abby braces herself upon seeing the “identify yourself” sign, but she also doesn’t really think she can blame them. She wrings her hands a bit, stopping before a large rock that’s situated just before the gate, and glances around, finding a face in a guard tower just off to the right.

“Who are you?” the person calls, and Abby can make out dark hair, a man bundled in a dark gray coat. There’s a gun in his hands, and it’s trained on her.

“I, ah, my name is Abby,” she calls, and she wills herself to look stronger than she feels. “We’re just passing through, we were hoping we could stop in. It’s, uhm, it’s cold out here, and we’re low on supplies. We don’t have much, but if we need to trade or something, we can offer something, I’m sure.”

The man regards her for a moment, and without looking away from her, he lowers his gun and calls down to someone on the inside of the gate. It opens with a groan, and the man nods them in, lowering his gun. Maintaining a level of caution, Abby looks to Lev and smiles, a small, tight smile, and he gives her one back, leading the way toward the gate. The two are ushered in by a woman with red hair, a natural and deep shade, with eyes so blue that Abby could only liken them to the color of the sky, and meet a blond haired man with eyes the shade of tree bark, just a bit shorter than Abby herself, and she’s surprised at the smiles she’s met with. She remembers being told a couple of times that traveling with a child does make you more approachable, but she didn’t think it’d be this...easy, is maybe the right word? She finds a hand extended to her, the redheaded woman, introducing herself as Lena, and she hesitates before accepting it. They go through what seems to be a scripted spiel of “any weapons on you?” and “what’re you here for?”, and Abby answers as honestly as she can, glancing between the two.

“Well, we’ll need to see your bags, pat you down. You know the drill, I’m sure,” Lena begins, and gestures to the wall. Abby tenses a bit, but relents; this was her least favorite part of passing through towns. The awkward stage of developing some kind of rapport, some level of trust no matter how vague it may be.

Once the formalities are over and done with, thank God, Abby follows Lena through the town. It’s small, cozy, even, and Abby finds herself enjoying the look of the log houses, the streets littered with people. Children run around the streets, a dog or two running around, and Abby can’t help the smile that spreads across her face at the sounds of laughter. As per usual, there are curious, even cautious, gazes from people of all ages; she simply pays them no mind, feeling oddly at ease. She really is “going soft”, as Own had once put it. She winces a bit at the thought, and puts the memory away. Now isn’t the time.

They’re led up to a building a bit more industrial than the rest, and upon entering, Abby’s met with a dimly lit room, not for lack of lights, but simply because the blinds are drawn on most of the windows, and beds line the walls, with pillows and blankets. Abby feels the way her skin prickles with interest, and she heaves a sigh of relief. It’s good being in a place with proper bedding again; she just hopes she’ll get a   
chance to try it out, looking to see as Lena knocks on a door leading into a side room, cracked open.

“Maria?” her voice is quiet. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have some visitors, if you’d like to meet them.”

There’s some barely audible speaking from inside the room, the voice of an older woman that Abby can only assume is Maria. She catches some of it--“empty houses” and “come meet you”-- and before they know it, they’re being led out of what Abby recognizes as an infirmary. None of the beds are occupied, but there are first aid kits lying around, a stethoscope on one of the bedside tables. She wonders, for a moment, how often this building is used, but decides that maybe that’s knowledge she’s better off without, and she doesn’t really have time to ponder it, as Lena leads them outside and begins speaking.  
“I’m gonna take you to a house; you got here just in time. We just finished clearing out some space and building new houses. Sparse furniture, but it’s better than nothing, right? Maria’s gonna come talk with you guys in a little while.”

Abby nods, giving Lena a grateful smile as their eyes meet. The walk is uneventful, Lena gaining the attention of another armed woman to accompany them, consisting mostly of small talk; “where are you from?” and “is that your brother?”, keeping their answers vague enough that they don’t have to talk too much about their pasts, just desperate to be out of the cold.   
The house isn’t anything spectacular, similar in size to the rest of the houses they’ve passed so far. Log walls and a stone roof, a small porch. Lena leads them up the stairs and inside, and she lets out a breath she doesn’t know she’s been holding at the feeling of warmth against her skin. How the hell they manage air conditioned houses, she might never know, and she doesn’t really care. Warmth is warmth, and she’ll be damned if she looks a gift horse in the mouth, stepping off to the left and into the living room, met with a fireplace and a couch, a bay window off to the front of the house facing the street. She’s momentarily left speechless, just giving Lena a quiet, “okay” when she announces she’ll be standing outside as they wait for Maria. She’s distantly aware of the second woman walking to the back of the house, probably to guard the back door. She thinks this should concern her, but she understands; they’ve not come across a town so developed since just after they met. It’s exciting, relieving. Abby wants this to work out so badly, if not for herself, then for Lev.

“What do you think?” she asks, walking around the counter, brushing her hand along the counter as she takes in the room.

“It’s cool,” Lev says, looking up at a painting of a field on the wall, before flatly stating, “I don’t think they trust us.”

Abby huffs a laugh, slightly amused, “yeah, definitely not.”

\----

The meeting with Maria is formal, for the most part, but Abby can sense a warmth coming from the woman. Her hair is graying, the lines in her face speaking to her age, and she carries herself in a way that Abby can only describe as graceful. She asks questions in such a calculated way, picking her words carefully, and it’s a game Abby’s played before, many a time, but she understands. They go on like this for around an hour before Abby can see the tension ease a bit from Maria’s shoulders, sitting in the seat across from her at the kitchen table. She tells her of how it’s been rough out in the cold, and how they’re grateful for a place to stay, that if Maria would like, they can leave as soon as the snow clears up, an idea which she laughs at a bit, waving her hand dismissively. 

“Why don’t we talk work instead? You’re fit; you could help construction teams. We don’t need them often, but you never know. We’ll put you on patrols, too,” she pushes her chair out, standing and holding her hand out to Abby, “everyone carries their weight, here. Welcome to Jackson, Abby. We’ll send someone to come give you a walk around town in the morning. I figure you could use the rest. We’ve confiscated your weapons for now, I’m sure you understand, but we’ll leave your bags by the door. Get some rest.”

Abby follows her to the door, a sense of relief washing over her. She plucks her and Lev’s bags from the porch, closing the door and twisting the lock. Lena and the woman who’d been at the back door follow Maria away, a comfortable conversation beginning between the three as they walk into the distance, and suddenly, with the lack of company and a somewhat promise of safety and stability, exhaustion rushes through her, and she sways on her feet. She lets out a laugh at the way Lev comes to her side, concerned, and she waves him off.

“It’s okay, kid,” she’s grinning, she realizes, and she stretches her arms above her head, a satisfying pop coming from her shoulder, “let’s go upstairs. You can pick your room; I’ve been waiting for this fucking moment for months.”

Lev grins back at her, turning to the stairs and leading the way up. Abby’s feet carry her two steps at a time, so desperate for a bed that it’s almost laughable, and she pulls her braid in front of her shoulder, pulling at the band securing it. She picks at the different sections until her hair is hanging around her shoulders, and she sighs with relief. She’d tried being more careful with her braids, with her stitches, and Lev had worried himself about it, the plaits much more loose than she was normally comfortable with, but this didn’t stop tension from building on the sutures. She watches as the boy, a brother to her, walks past the first bedroom and stops before another door, looking into the room, and then at Abby, a silent message passing between the two, an unspoken “thank fuck”, and Abby smiles tiredly, slipping into what is now her bedroom.

The walls are a shade of yellow that Abby guesses she doesn’t find entirely distasteful, although it wouldn’t be her first choice for a bedroom, and the wood flooring in the rest of the house extends into the bedroom, too. There’s a small closet off to one side, on the other side of the dresser, a window facing the street, and, blessedly, a bed bigger than she was expecting. Looking at herself in the mirror hanging above the dresser briefly as she sets her backpack down on top of the wooden surface, she tries ignoring how exhausted she looks, instead turning to the bed and sitting on the end of it. She takes a moment to feel the blanket beneath her hand, and then she slips her boots off, not even bothering to climb under the sheets before laying down. She’s asleep before her head even hits the pillow, and when she dreams, it’s of a woman whose name she doesn’t even know.


	3. 3

The weeks that pass are uneventful, each day more predictable than the one before: wake up, prepare breakfast, wake Lev up (if he isn’t already), go do whatever job she’s assigned for the day, if any, come home, eat dinner, and sleep.

Abby can’t really complain. In fact, the monotony is relaxing, a far cry from stalking through trees and snow, day in and day out, patching scars and nursing bruises, worrying about whether or not they’ll have enough food for the next couple of days. Abby’s thankful for the stability, keeping to herself, mostly, but she can’t deny that she’s come to enjoy the company of the man she usually goes on patrols with, Jesse. He’s quiet and calm, and doesn't ask too many questions, a real “don’t ask, don’t tell” kind of guy, and Abby’s thankful for this, too. Sometimes they sit by themselves at the saloon, not speaking too much, but with the silence comes the observation, the reading of one another’s body language.

It’s late at night the first time it happens, only on the third day since Abby’s arrival, nursing a glass of water, trying to ease the headache she’s had for most of the evening. She’s tracing the rim of her glass when she hears it, the raucous laughter of women, and she winces with the sound, twisting in her seat and shooting a look towards the door, fully intent on glaring at whoever’s behind the noise on an otherwise quiet night, and as soon as she catches sight of her, her finger freezes where it is on the lip of the glass. Her first impression of the woman was right: she is the perfect picture of beauty.

She stares at her, stunned into silence, taking in hair and eyes she knows so well, dressed in jeans and a flannel that looks like it might be just a bit too big. Her shoes are ripped up and battered, a smile plastered on her face as she walks in with a woman with dark hair and shining eyes, beautiful, too, in her own right, and Abby’s face begins to burn as she feels something settle uncomfortably in her stomach, and she purses her lips, turning back around in her seat and unconsciously shifting further towards the wall as if she can hide. A mix between worrying that the girl will still perceive her as a threat and some kind of survival instinct washes through her, and she shakes her head.

“Her name’s Ellie,” Jesse says, and when Abby looks up, there’s a smirk playing at his lips. “She’s something else.”

Abby raises an eyebrow, nodding slowly, and she takes another sip of her water.

“Ellie,” she says, trying the name out, nodding again at the sound of it, but her brows knit a bit at just how much it feels like a swear word on her tongue, like something she shouldn’t be allowed permission to say, but she powers on, regardless. “What’s her story?”

Jesse explains that Ellie’s here with whom he refers to as her “old man”, Joel, a man who took her in and came here in search of his brother, Tommy, who Abby comes to know is Maria’s husband, a man with long hair and a hardened gaze. Meanwhile, Ellie’s laughter is like music in the background for most of the story, mingled with the laughter and quiet voices of the other people in the saloon, until it isn’t, until Ellie’s suddenly not laughing anymore, and Abby feels the hairs prickle on the back of her neck, eyes boring into the back of her head. She chances a glance, and blue meets green, her breath catching in her throat, and she turns back to Jesse, who hums for a moment before returning to his glass.

“Dina said Ellie asked about you.”

This draws Abby’s attention, and she raises an eyebrow, clearing her throat a bit, “any idea why?”

Jesse shrugs, drumming his fingers along the table between them, “just wanted to know where you were staying, your name. Standard stuff. Ellie can be nosy.” He smiles at this, and it suddenly becomes apparent to Abby that Jesse isn’t just someone who knows Ellie in the way of just being aware of her existence, he knows Ellie. Speaks to her, hangs out with her, and Abby pulls her upper lip between her teeth, worrying it a bit.

She feels Ellie’s gaze on her until she leaves the saloon.

\----

It’s been around three weeks since Abby arrived, and Ellie finds herself so distracted by her presence that she’s in a constant state of preoccupation. She’s fucking up on patrol, missing shots, and they’ve started moving her shifts. She’ll climb out of the shower and realize she’s been so caught up in her thoughts that she’s not washed her hair, watching a movie and realizing she’s lost more than half of it to her thoughts. It’s  _ really  _ starting to piss her off, so, of course, there’s only one logical conclusion.

This is how Ellie finds herself bundled up at an ungodly hour of the morning, the snow coming down in small flakes around her as she makes her way down the street. She’s not really prepared herself for this, so now, just minutes away from the newly built house, she begins flipping through all the potential ways this could go, scenarios in which she finishes what she started in the cabin or in which she simply turns around and leaves, going home, leaving the tension to fester and rot between them until it swallows her whole. No, that’s not a possibility, Ellie decides, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows a fight isn’t, either. She huffs, blowing a bubble in her mouth and holding it there, something she picked up from Dina, before letting it out with a quiet  _ pop _ just as the front door comes into view. As it begins to dawn on her that she has absolutely no fucking clue what she’s doing, she stops, standing on the corner of the sidewalk across from the house. She rocks back and forth on her heels, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. She knows that all she’s doing is delaying the inevitable, but, for the first time in a long time, she feels lost. It’s like the first time she’d tried swimming on her own, in a lake nearby in the summer, a day so long ago that she only remembers it through the way she’d smelled like a wet dog, her wet clothes burning as the sun beat down on her on the way home. She’d waded out too far, her feet slipping from under her as she accidentally slipped into a deeper section of water, and it was like trying to move through quicksand, her hands searching in vain for something to grab as her legs kicked awkwardly until Joel had found her, pulling her back to the surface. She’d tried telling Joel that maybe she didn’t want to learn how to swim; after all, they lived in Jackson now, what would she need to know how to swim for? They didn’t ever plan on leaving again, right? But Joel had simply shook his head, smiling as he told her, “you can do it, kiddo. Trust me”. She becomes aware that this situation is no different, and she closes her eyes, repeating his words--“you can do it, you can do it”-- under her breath, and she finally finds herself able to step off the sidewalk.

The stairs are steady beneath her feet, free of creaks, and she glances around at the plain, white wicker seat under the window, a small circle disrupting the thick coating of dust on the metal coffee table in front of it. An image of Abby sitting there, a cup in her hand, wrapped in one of those itchy blankets as she watches the snow flashes through Ellie’s head, and she feels her cheeks heat, spreading to her ears. She doesn’t enjoy the way they’ve danced around this for so long, all the thoughts she’s had of Abby, the way she can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to feel the muscles of Abby’s back ripple under her hands, what it’d be like to braid her hair in the mornings, and the irritation bubbles in Ellie’s chest. She bites the inside of her cheek before raising her fist, knocking with conviction. She just wants to get this over with, to understand why she’s suddenly so enamored with a woman she’s never even officially fucking met. She knits her brows, trying to pull together some semblance of authority, of power, to try and intimidate Abby in some way, to let Abby know, “I don’t know what kind of fucking spell you’ve put on me, but this shit stops now”.

This, of course, is not something that lasts, and Ellie can feel the wind being knocked from her lungs when Abby answers the door. Her eyes are clouded with sleep, her hair in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. Her biceps are on full display, only clad in a tank top and a pair of sweatpants that are easily a size too big, tied in a way that must be uncomfortably tight to keep them from slipping down her hips. Ellie feels her eyes widen a bit, and she opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, her words jumbling inside her head like the coins in the mason jar on her bedside table. Abby feels it, too, the sleep leaving her eyes quickly, and she opens her mouth, too, but like flip sides of the same coin, all she can manage is feebly mumbling, “um”, before she’s suddenly stepping aside, bare feet padding the floor, and gesturing for Ellie to enter.

She glances around at the emptiness of the living room, the sparse decorating. She remembers this, when Joel moved into his own home, the way it’d taken weeks, even months for it to really start looking lived in, and she wonders if Abby will stay long enough for this place to feel the same. Something in her chest twists uncomfortably at the idea of Abby leaving, and she wrinkles her nose, before quickly trying to wipe her expression clean; she hopes Abby didn’t see.

She stands awkwardly in front of the window, the curtains drawn and the lights dim, and Abby shuffles into the kitchen, her footsteps deliberately light, and Ellie realizes the boy must be asleep upstairs. There’s the clinking of glass, Abby pulling cups down from the cabinet and filling them with water. However, instead of making her way back into the living room, Ellie doesn’t miss the way she braces herself against the counter, her shoulders tensing and then relaxing as though she’s heaved a breath that Ellie doesn’t hear. When she does turn around, making her way towards the living room, Ellie averts her gaze, again hopeful she’s not been caught, and she kicks at an upturned corner of the carpet, flattening it back out. She hesitates a moment when Abby extends the glass to her, but when she does, Abby gestures to the couch, sitting against the armrest and tucking her legs up. She sips eagerly, a distraction from the silence that’s bearing down on them, an excuse to not speak, and after a few sips, she stares down into the center of the glass as if the water itself will somehow start speaking and save them from the awkward atmosphere. Ellie can’t really judge her; she does much the same, except instead of the water in the glass, she insteads fixes her gaze on the flex of Abby’s biceps, the curl of her fingers around the glass. Flyaways frame her face, and her jaw flexes with each sip. For once, Ellie doesn’t feel bad for staring, and a part of her wants to commit the woman across the couch from her to memory. She drums her fingers against the glass in her hands.

“Sooo…” she speaks slowly, and notices Abby’s foot twitch at the sound before she looks up, leveling Ellie with her blue eyes, and Ellie’s reminded of just how close to grey they are. There’s something unspoken in them, like a storm on the horizon, and an electricity that Ellie can’t quite place passes between them. Ellie thinks of the ways in which she loves thunder and lightning, the perfection of turbulent weather.

“So,” she says, more matter-of-fact, imploring Ellie to keep speaking, and Ellie suddenly wonders if Abby’s as fascinated with hearing her voice as she is with hearing hers. Normally she’s not so shameless, and she suddenly remembers a time in which she loved Dina, loved her in a different way than she does now. The way she’d been so obvious, staring at Dina as she’d danced around the saloon; staring at her when they’d hung out in the basement of Eugene’s place, pot hazing her mind, in awe of how beautiful Dina was and truly still is, but it’s different now; so many things have changed since then, those moments so far away in her memory now that Abby’s sitting here, grounding her so solidly in this moment in a way that Ellie can’t wrap her head around. She takes a second, drinking in the way Abby watches her expectantly as she tries to think of a response.

“I guess we should talk about the whole thing in the, uh, cabin,” it’s lame, she knows, but what else can she say? “ _ Can I touch your arms _ ?” or “ _ why haven’t I been able to stop thinking about you ever since I bashed you over the head with a broken lamp _ ?” are both terrible choices, and she doesn’t even want to begin to touch on just how weird the first option is.

Abby nods, picking absently at a loose fiber on the armrest.

“How’s your shoulder?”

It takes Ellie off guard for a moment, and she can still feel the dim sting of the arrow nicking her shoulder. She shakes her head, and realizes that Abby wasn’t looking when she turns to her, expectantly, so she shakes her head again, waving her hand, mumbling something along the lines of, “nothing more than a scratch; I’m okay. Good as new,” and Abby nods, too, pleased with this answer.

“What about you?” Ellie remembers the blood that had pooled a bit behind Abby’s head as she lay on the floor of the cabin that day, shattered glass from the bulb on the floor around them. “How’s your head?”

“Good as new,” she parrots, smiling a bit as she lifts the ponytail, turning her head. There’s a pink scar running along the base of her skull, the area around it a bit bald, and Ellie thinks to herself that Abby’s lucky she wasn’t concussed, or, even worse, dead from the blow. “My brother, Lev, stitched me up afterwards.” It’s Ellie’s turn to nod, crossing her ankles and ignoring the way her skin stings as she picks at the nail on one of her index fingers. They both go silent then, the lack of sound settling between them, and Ellie, so used to being uncomfortable in silence, in stagnation, finds herself comfortable with it. She picks at the fraying around the hole at the knee of her jeans, shifting a bit inside her coat, and she realizes she’s begun to sweat under the heat flowing through the house.

"I'm sorry I hit you," it comes out in a rush, and she avoids Abby's gaze for a moment, before she hears a quiet laugh, turning to look at Abby. She finds light shining in Abby's eyes like lightning, and there's a genuine smile on her face. She sits for a moment before extending her hand to Ellie, her voice even and resolute as she speaks the question, "I can't say that I wouldn't have done the same thing. Truce?"

Ellie's stunned for a moment before giving back a hesitant smile, accepting the hand offered to her, and she echoes the sentiment, noticing the time on the watch fastened around her wrist. She rises to her feet, sticking her hands in the pockets of her coat.

“I, uh,” she clears her throat. “I should go. I’m on patrol soon.”

Abby nods and places her hands on her knees as she stands, following Ellie to the door. Ellie steps outside and pauses, her back to Abby. When she turns to face her, she finds Abby watching her with her still stormy gaze, a hip against the doorframe, her relaxed posture a far cry from the look in her eyes. Her arms are crossed, her glass back in her hand. Ellie has to remind herself to speak, will herself to not become tongue-tied.

“Can I come back tomorrow?”

Abby stays silent for a few beats, her eyebrow quirked as if this question has caught her off guard, before she slowly nods. Ellie smiles a bit, and she can tell it’s a bit silly, and truly she’s not even aware why it feels as though flowers are blossoming in her chest, every shade of the rainbow, at the thought of spending more time with the built woman before her. She turns on her heel, practically bouncing down the steps back towards the stables, and she feels Abby’s eyes on her until she’s turned the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super sorry if there are any grammatical errors, if there are, please let me know! I edit and review this myself, and I'm finally feeling more in my element with this chapter! Feel free to leave a comment, it really inspires me to write more!


	4. 4

Ellie can’t help the weird buzz that fills her every time she sees Abby, and slowly, the irritation that’s gnawed at her chest dissipates, replaced by an all-too familiar warmth. At first it scares her, and then she realizes that she isn’t really sure why she’s scared at all. She can’t tell if it’s because the feeling comes on so fast or if it’s because she thinks it’s weird that she’s falling for someone she almost murdered, who could just have easily murdered her. She almost wonders if that’s why the idea of liking Abby, of wondering what it’d be like to lay in the same bed as her, hold her hand, is that much more... _ alluring _ .

The three of them settle into an easy rhythm. At first, Ellie comes at erratic hours, usually in the early afternoon, and sometimes, late at night, arriving just before dinner and watching with interest as Abby tries to make something. Lev usually insists on helping out, citing Abby’s terrible luck with cooking, and they’ve spent most of these nights laughing and poking fun at her for it, and one night Ellie had laughed so hard that she’d coughed until she thought she’d burst a lung, laying on the couch. It becomes easy, simple, a routine that Ellie can settle into as comfortably as she can shoot a gun or breathe. Her visits start spanning longer periods of time, starting to stretch from the early morning into the late evenings, and she finds herself pleasantly exhausted and sated on a fix of Abby she doesn’t know she’s been craving as she walks back to her own flat in the dark. Abby usually offers to let her stay if it grows too late, but Ellie always rejects the idea with a shake of her head, a quirk of her lips as she stands in the doorway, pulling her shoes back on. This never changes, and neither does the way Abby stands in the doorway, watching her go like she  _ wishes  _ Ellie had said yes. 

They’ve never really talked about it, the elephant in the room that both of them pretend they can’t see, pretend isn’t there at all, and for a little while, Ellie’s grateful for it. Until she isn’t.

She’s grateful until she’s on her way home in the cold one night, the temperature not cold enough for snow but for sleet instead, and her teeth are chattering, her hands cupped around her mouth as she tries to keep warm. She wonders what Abby does when she leaves, how late she usually stays up, if she loses sleep, too, wondering if Ellie’s thinking of her. She stops in her tracks maybe 10 minutes into the walk home, and makes it back to Abby’s place in 5.

Ellie starts spending the night, and from then on, something shifts. Ellie promises to put good words in with Dina for Jesse in exchange for his patrols with Abby, sitting with her bare feet on Abby’s thighs as they talk late into the night in the living room, about things they’d found while out scavenging or stories about different people in town, as Abby meets them. Sometimes Abby rubs Ellie’s feet, relaxed against the armrest, and a time or two Abby lets Ellie unbraid her hair before bed, and rebraid it again in the morning while she drinks tea or even a cup of coffee if Joel’s willing to spare some beans. Ellie will always wrinkle her nose, reminding Abby that it “smells like shit in here” each time she wakes up to the smell, the taller of the two women easily responding with some cheeky response like, “it smells the same way you do after your patrols” or “I think that’s just your breath, have you brushed your teeth yet this morning?”. The ease in which they can slip into some strange form of “domestic bliss”, she’d once heard Joel call it, makes the rumors that are floating around town easier to ignore, at least for Ellie. Sure, she still doesn’t know what it’s like to touch Abby’s skin underneath her tank tops, whether or not Abby slips her fingers under the waistband of her pants thinking of Ellie, too. She lets her fingers linger on Abby’s neck a little bit longer as she pulls her hair back to braid it in the mornings, her skin so hot that it’s like fire, and Ellie finds herself craving that familiar heat every day after that first touch. She’s deliberately slow, playing it off as still learning, still figuring it out, and this isn’t entirely a lie, but Ellie aches, like she’s starving and Abby’s a feast, and this is the closest she’s come so far to touching Abby in a way that satisfies her hunger. Ellie is greedy, she knows; first it was just wondering what it’d be like to hear Abby speak again, moving to wanting to braid her hair and know what she’s like first thing in the morning. She’d gotten both of those, images and inflections that she’d committed to an, albeit shitty, memory, and yet, she still wants more. It’s not that she’s oblivious to this side of herself, a side that she’s hyper aware of in these moments with Abby, and she realizes that maybe this is why she’s afraid, why the idea of pursuing the blond-haired and blue-eyed woman is  _ terrifying _ . She is conscious of the ways in which she can ask for too much of anything really, too much forgiveness and too much of others, afraid of leaning so hard that she’ll break her. She tries to shake the thoughts off like snow, choosing instead to melt under the scorching heat of Abby’s skin; she has so much time, right? Abby isn’t leaving; at least, if she is, she hasn’t told Ellie about it, and if nothing else, Ellie can trust her to be honest.

Tonight is like any other night as they lounge on the couch together, trying to keep their laughs quiet as Lev sleeps upstairs. If Ellie’s watch is correct, it’s around 1:30 in the morning, and she knows that Abby’ll be standing before long, going to bed, and Ellie’ll complain, telling her that sleep is for the weak, and she’ll get a glare from those blue eyes, a reminder that she’s hypocritical--“if that’s true, then why do you sleep until noon everyday?”--and she’ll relent. Tonight, though, Abby doesn’t stand, she slips into the floor, sitting with her legs crossed.

“C’mon, come take my braid out,” Ellie doesn’t know why Abby implores her; she’s shifting to sit behind Abby’s head before she can even get a syllable out. She shifts so her legs are on either side of Abby’s arms, her toes touching the floor, and she takes Abby’s braid between her hands, pulling at the band securing it. Abby’s hands are warm as they grab her calves, moving her legs so that her knees are hooked over her shoulders, and she idly traces her fingers along the frays on Ellie’s jeans.

“We stay in too much,” Abby says, absentminded, and Ellie wrinkles her nose. She’s perfectly fine with staying in every night, as long as Abby’s there, but she offers a response, anyway.

“Dina and Jesse are going to the saloon tomorrow night,” she says, pausing before gently running her nails from Abby’s hairline along her scalp. She hums at this, leaning her head back against Ellie’s thigh a bit.

“Why don’t we go?” Ellie can see that her eyes are closed, her lashes fanned out against her cheekbone, and her brows are pinched together just the tiniest bit. She shrugs, her hand repeating it’s motion, and watches with interest as Abby’s mouth twists. Ellie’s mouth goes dry in response, and she licks her lips.

“We can,” it comes out a bit more choked than she’d hoped, and she nods emphatically with the words. She means it, too. She can hate going out all she wants, can detest the crowd, the noise, but she knows Abby is different. It’s in the way Abby moves, the way she says hello to more people in the street than Ellie does, the openness of her posture. “You don’t have to ask me, you know.”

Abby shrugs at this, opening her eyes and looking up at Ellie.

“Just figured I’d ask since you practically live here now,” she’s not smiling, but there’s a smirk in her tone. “I want you to go with me, anyway.”

She’s so casual about it, as if it’s something Ellie should’ve expected, and maybe Ellie should’ve. She tucks a flyaway behind Abby’s ear, and then, Abby’s up, twisting in her grasp and rising to her feet.

“We should go to bed,” it’s matter-of-fact, and Ellie feels like she’s done something wrong, made some monumental mistake, and she can feel an apology bubbling in her until Abby continues, “I’ll be right back.” And then she’s padding off, taking the steps two at a time, and Ellie can hear her shifting stuff around in her dresser in her bedroom. She returns, in a different shirt with a pair of sweatpants and a baggy shirt in her hand, tossing them to Ellie. She barely catches them, noticing at the last moment, and raises an eyebrow.

“What’s this for?”

“I’ve been letting you sleep in dirty clothes every time you spend the night for weeks,” Abby shrugs. “Just put the clothes on, Williams.”

Ellie heats at the use of her last name instead of her first, another part of their routine, and she just rolls her eyes to try and play off how nervous she is. She stands, too, just barely shorter than Abby, and gestures awkwardly to the stairs.

“I uh, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, to change.”

She stands at the mirror in the bathroom, the clothes set on the lid of the toilet, and she braces herself against the porcelain of the sink.  _ Holy shit. _ She thinks of the skin of Abby’s forehead and her hair beneath her fingers, twisting the cold water knob and splashing some of the water on her face. She stands there, staring, trying to hype herself up in the mirror, regain some kind of composure. She finally manages to strip herself of her clothes, picking up the shirt, plain and green, and slips it over her head. It smells the same way Abby does, just 10 times stronger, like pine and rain, and Ellie inhales deeply. She shakes her head, pulling the sweatpants on and tying them as tight as she can, but they still hang somewhat low on her hips. She’s thankful for the size of the shirt, too big for her, covering the way the pants don’t fit. She gives herself another glance in the mirror and pools together all the courage she can, making her way back down the stairs. Upon seeing Abby where she’s sat on the couch, Ellie gives her an overdramatic spin, ignoring the way her heart is beating so hard she thinks it might break through her bone and skin, landing at Abby’s feet.

“How do I look?” It’s a joke, and Abby’s giving her an amused smile.

“Like a dumbass,” she tries to deadpan, but there’s a laugh in her words, and Ellie feigns hurt, clutching her chest and making a noise of indignation. “Oh, shut up.”

Ellie plops down on the couch next to her, jabbing at her ribs with her elbow, “okay, jackass, get out of my bed.”

Abby’s quiet at this, before she opens her mouth, and then closes it, before opening it again, and Ellie thinks that whatever Abby’s trying to decide on saying might make her explode.

“Do you wanna stay in my room?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally at a point where I feel like my writing is becoming accurate and more representative of my skillset lol I promise I didn't suck this bad at pacing like, two years ago.


End file.
